I don’t know much about this but it would seem that bounded space perceived as infinite on a cross section ( the top of a table) could be figured as having points that are all even numbered and positive. Right? That is, every instant you cut in half would turn out to be 2, 4, 6 et cetera without the need for a five, which gums things up. What sort of a fiction would develop from this, anyway? What sort of poem? Is such an infinity likely? Or would this negate parabolas and velocity?
As I’m behind in my reading (whatever that means), I’ve started No Counry for Old Men and just refinished No One Writes to the Colonel (Thanks, Carmen). But I keep coming back to the mysterious world of milled wood and am worrying over why Joe Lieberman persists in making a fool of himself.
Extrusions also bother, much like the issue of infinity. A corner is an extrusion. All edges extrude. But what does that mean?